Lesson for a Master
by Tracy
Summary: It isn't easy being Caine


Lesson for a Master

By Tracy LeCates

The mortar and pestle hit the wall with a loud **_thunk_**, the crushed contents spilling and scattering on the floor. The level of frustration in the rooftop apartment was palpable as the young priest stood at his worktable, fuming and cursing softly at the small jars of herbs before him.

A stream of words, mostly consisting of four letters, poured from the mouth of Peter Caine. A quick glance at the clock on the wall, alerting him to the fact he'd been at this particular exercise for most of the morning, increased the volume of the muttered oaths. Three months had passed since he'd handed in his gun and badge, and he was yet to master the art of concocting even the simplest of remedies.

A growl rumbled deep in his throat as he stalked across the room toward the small bowl on the floor. His foot drew back and aimed at the offending object… and halted. Foot back on the ground, the priest stooped to retrieve his implements instead. _C'mon, Pete, _he mentally berated himself. _If you can't get this, you may as well just hang it up. Can't very well tell Mrs. Leong to go to CVS and pick up a bottle of Nyquil. _

Returning to the worktable once again, Peter took a deep breath, and focused on the task before him. The jars of herbs were paid out along the front of the table; each labeled, and relabeled. Once by Lo Si, and once again by himself, in laymen's terms. So many times he's sat in this room while his father worked at the very same table. Caine's hands had move swift and sure, mixing this and that without hesitation. Now, Peter found himself wishing very much that he'd paid more attention to what was going on in front of him instead of fidgeting and rambling, his mind always two minutes or two steps ahead.

"Damn," he muttered, staring helplessly at the jars once again. Through the open terrace doors he could feel the soft, warm breeze on his face, and smell the distinct scent of fall. The sun shone and he knew the nice weather wouldn't hold out much longer. Peter's feet yearned to move, away from the table, away from the project at hand, and out into the world. Like a kid in school with a burning desire to play hooky, his gaze was pulled to the window. "No!" he chastised himself loudly, forcibly directing his attention back to the worktable. His jaw set in determination, he mentally walked himself through the inventory of powders and leaves, removing pinches and portions. "Gotta get it right this time…" he coached himself.

Peter sank so deeply into concentration, he failed to hear the soft-footed approach behind him.

"Very good, you Caine," the Ancient's smiling approval came through in his voice. One a day as gorgeous as this, he'd scarcely expected to find the new priest in residence.

Startled, Peter jumped, knocking over the jar closest to hand, spilling its contents to the floor. "Lo Si! Don't DO that!" he snapped. _Great, now people are sneaking up on me. I've really lost it. _"And don't call me 'Young Caine', okay?" he half pleaded.

The elderly priest stooped to assist his young student gather what was left of the herbs off the floor.

"Well, if you were coming by to check up on me, here I am," Peter grumbled.

"You have been working very hard," Lo Si commented gently.

The reply came softly. Barely audible over the sound of the broom against the wood floor. "Not hard enough…"

Bright, clear eyes, which belied the age of the owner, glanced up and smiled. "Your classes are going well?"

With the last of the leaves swept away, Peter stood and nodded. He was not quite able to meet the eyes of his sometimes instructor, forever dreading what he would see there. Disappointment, pity, reproach? "Yeah, the classes are going okay. I really like teaching, working with the kids. It's just this other stuff… I can't do it, Lo Si," he finally admitted out loud.

"You can," the priest insisted with gentle rebuff. "It does not come overnight. Just as it took many years for you to reach this level of proficiency at kung fu, so will it take time for you to acquire the skills of an apothecary." Climbing to his feet, he dusted off his knees and looked up at his tall companion. "I did not come by to 'check up' on you. I wished to know if you were in need of any supplies."

Peter smiled despite himself. "Yeah, I could use another jar of… what it was that I just spilled all over the floor."

"Very good," Lo Si chuckled softly. "I will return in a few hours. Perhaps we will work together," he offered.

Temptation flickered briefly through him before stubborn resolve squashed the urge. "Thanks, Lo Si, but I have to do this myself," he stated miserably, turning back to the table.

Amusement glittered in the ancient eyes as the priest took his leave. "I will return later, You Caine," he called back with a wave.

"Lo Si, please don't call me that--" Peter began to protest too late. "Damn."

It took less than thirty minutes for Peter to lose his patience, once again in a flurry of flying bowls and jars as he took out his frustration on the blameless objects. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!!!" he shouted. Whirling around, he grabbed his jacket and growled at the small, smiling Buddha perched atop the altar. "I QUIT!"

"Pete?" Kermit's voice broke through the mindless haze Peter had sunk into, sitting on the fire escape steps. 

Hazel eye snapped up, recognizing the figure of his old friend, climbing up half way to meet him. "Kermit," he sighed in frustration. "Now is not a good time for a social call."

The small smile tugged at the corners of the ex-mercenary's mouth. "What are you doing out here?" Kermit asked, approaching undaunted. He'd known Peter Caine since the younger man had come to live with Paul Blaisdell as a teen, and could read his moods like a meteorologist read the clouds in the sky.

"Well, it's the only place for me to be, since I'm not going back in THERE again," Peter grumbled, jerking a finger back towards the apartment above. "Ever."

With a shrug, the visitor took a seat a few steps down from his old friend. "Too nice to be inside anyway."

"No, you don't understand, Kermit. I am never going back in there. I can't. I quit. I slipped my letter of resignation under the Buddha and walked. No two weeks notice, effective immediately. And as soon as I get up the nerve I'm going downtown and I'm going to ask Commissioner Kincaid for my badge back."

Kermit nodded calmly. "So, that's it, then."

"That's it," Peter confirmed. With a heavy sigh, the former detective leaned back on his elbows, turning his face towards the afternoon sky. "I just can't do it. I'm knocking myself out, and getting nowhere. Maybe I'm too old to learn this shit, too old for such a drastic change. Too set in my ways. If things hadn't happened the way they did, if Pop and I hadn't been separated all those years, who knows, maybe I would have been prepared for this. I would have spent my teens learning all this stuff, not suppressing everything I did know, trying to fit in with the rest of the world."

The bearded detective smiled vaguely. "Maybe. But it's a little late for 'should have' and 'could have', isn't it?"

"Never too late for regrets, Kermit," he replied, letting his eyes slide shut. "People used to say, 'Come to Chinatown, ask for Caine. He will help you…' Do you know what they're saying now? 'Come to Chinatown, ask for Young Caine. He will… run and get Lo Si.'," he scowled. 

"'Young Caine'," Kermit chuckled. "That's what they're calling you?"

"Oh, sure, laugh at that… the man who's going through life named after a cloth frog with a guy's hand up its ass."

Kermit's grin spread from ear to ear as he heard the laughter behind his friend's words, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "So, talk to me."

"I don't want to be Young Caine," Peter said softly, only the barest traces of frustration remaining in his voice.

"Who do you want to be?"

The answer was long in coming. "I'm not sure anymore. When Pop left I thought I was going to be 'Caine'. I thought I could do it. I thought I could step in and fill his shoes. And now I've got blisters on my feet from trying. I thought I was going to be 'Caine', and instead, I've become 'Young Caine', which, roughly translated, mean 'Note Quite Caine'. I'm letting people down; my father, the Ancient, the whole damn community."

"Reminds me of your days as a rookie cop," Kermit snickered.

Peter pinned his old friend with a glare of reproach. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean you spent so much time trying to be Blaisdell, or trying to be Eppy, or trying to be, dare I say it, me, that you almost got yourself killed."

"I did not," he protested indignantly.

"Yeah, you did," Kermit shot back. "It wasn't until you stopped trying to emulate al the others around you, and found your own style, that you stopped getting hurt all the damn time."

Peter sighed softly. "I can't go back, can I?"

"I think you know the answer to the question. Look, Pete, you're not your father. Never have been, never will be. That doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's only been a few months, give yourself time. You didn't become a detective overnight and you're not gonna become a priest overnight either."

Peter sank back against the steps, reclining on his elbows and allowing the warmth of the sun to soak into his skin. "I completed my training, Kermit. I took the brands. I should be able to do this. All that was supposed to mean that I'm ready for this. And I'm not. I just can't do it."

"Have you thought about… ohhhh, I don't know… asking for help?" Kermit deadpanned.

Peter uttered a short laugh of frustration. "When my father left he said that I was the Master now. The only thing I see to have mastered is the art of making a mess of thing. He said that I was the Master and he would be kneeling at my feet. Well, if he's kneeling at my feet, it's because I've just dropped something and he's picking it up."

A long silence grew between the two old friends as the afternoon drifted by. For those moments they could have been two people anywhere in the world. Sitting by a stream, waiting for a fish to bite, on a bench waiting for a bus…

Kermit's soft words seemed to tear through the air when at last he spoke. "You think that if you can't get the hang of this your father will come back?"

Peter's half closed eyes snapped open as he stared in confusion and sharp denial. 

The ex-mercenary climbed to his feet silently. A hand came out in a gesture of brotherly affection, briefly resting on the shoulder of the young priest. "I'll be around," he offered quietly. With a quick readjustment of his glasses, Kermit made his way down the stairs, and was gone.

The multitude of candles burned brightly in the small room. A lone figure sat cross-legged on the floor in the center, at peace. The sound of shallow, even breathing softly filled the room. Senses heightened and attuned, open to the world around him, Peter heard the front door as it swung quietly open. The soft-footed approach of the apothecary reached his ears. Hazel eyes slowly opened and the young priest gracefully unfolded his body, and rose from the floor. A gentle wave of his hand extinguished the candles, the thin tendrils of smoke drifted into the air to dissipate.

Lo Si's diminutive form appeared in the doorways, a small brown sack in his hands.

"Hi, Lo Si," Peter greeted him quietly as he moved to join him.

Taking a visual survey of the outer workroom, the elderly priest smiled in amusement. "You have been cleaning."

The young mane smiled, his eyes casting about the room with a slight glimmer. "Yeah," he admitted with the faintest of smiles. It had taken a while, but he'd managed to clean up the mess his earlier tantrum had caused. "Is that bag for me?" he asked.

The old priest nodded in response. "Yes, as requested. I will leave it on the table for you." He moved back towards the door.

A hand reached out to halt his progress toward the exit. "Lo Si…" Peter began. "I was thinking maybe you might want to stay for tea?"

The Ancient accepted the invitation without giving voice to the questions in raised in his mind. There was something different about his youthful counterpart. Something new. Something peaceful, as though some weight around his neck had been let go. He watched the young man move around the small kitchen area, putting on a kettle of water to boil. Peter's actions were fluid, and near silent, so unlike the careless, random motions Lo Si had observed in him during his years at the 101st.

Aware of the quizzical stuffy going on behind his back, Peter smiled as he turned. "And after tea, I was hoping that we might work together for a little while. I think the "Master" is desperately in need of a lesson," he confessed. "How about it, Lo Si? Would you be willing to be my 'backup' for a while?"

"You are ready, Young Caine," Lo Si said with a nod.

Peter held up one hand, a look of patient amusement on his face. "Lo Si, don't call me that."

FIN


End file.
